


A Walk of Shame

by In_agony_and_ecstasy



Series: A Leap of Faith [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, College, Coming Out, Denial, Dysphoria, Fighting, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Parents, Religion, Self-Acceptance, Trans Male Character, bisexual!jean, chubby!marco, chubby!sasha, coming of age story, make ups, trans!jean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 03:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4464155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_agony_and_ecstasy/pseuds/In_agony_and_ecstasy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean and Marco are currently living together, since Marco's parents have essentially disowned him for being gay. While Marco struggles to earn his parents' acceptance, Jean struggles with gender dysphoria he fears Marco will never understand. </p><p>Jean's gender dysphoria prevents him from so much, including believing in God, or having a healthy sex life with Marco. While some of this Marco can talk to Jean about, some of it he has no clue about and can't begin to guess. </p><p>Finally, Jean tries to get passed his dysphoria in a way that goes horribly wrong. It's up to Marco to understand quick, or he could lose Jean when it comes time to leave for college.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Walk of Shame

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, sorry for the gaps between updates! It takes me so long to write these!
> 
> Also, there is one more part to this series left. Once it's written, I'll return to my other three multi-chapter fics. Thank you for your patience.

Living with Jean had made it easier to breathe, and yet a constant ache resided in my chest. Every day that Jean’s mom accepted me for who I was more than my own parents had, made me feel that much more lonely, my longing that much stronger, and the cut that much deeper. Jean and I had been sitting on his couch most the night, watching movie after movie. At some point he had fallen asleep against my chest. It had been late, so I could have just carried him to bed. But I let him lay there for a while, watching him sleep. He was so vulnerable, so at peace while he slept. 

His mom had walked in. She’d worked late and upon walking into the living room, she saw Jean curled up into the crook of her arm, and she smiled like she’d expect nothing less of us. 

Even when I woke him up to go to bed finally, and he’d kissed me sleepily before heading to the bedroom, his mom caught a glimpse of us from the dining room table. She smiled then too, and went about knitting like she had been. 

The thought of kissing Jean in my own house was such an unreasonable, far-fetched fantasy, that I couldn’t even pretend to take it seriously. Even when it was late in the night, and I couldn’t sleep, and I desperately needed to imagine a future that might make it possible.

This morning, I had climbed out of Jean’s bed, careful not to jostle him any. Then I tip-toed out of his bedroom into his living room. His mom sometimes fell asleep on the couch, and I was relieved to see that wasn’t the case this morning. I sat on the loveseat, while staring out the window. Fog wafted off the dewy lawn, yet another reminder that winter was long gone and summer was coming. College applications were coming. 

Sighing, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and called the only person I could imagine who might understand what I was going through. I had put off calling her, knowing that my mom wouldn’t be able to resist telling her – anyone that would listen to her for that matter – what had taken place in the Bodt home the weekend before. 

She’d called me, but at the time I couldn’t make myself answer.

The phone rang on the other end. It rang four times. Ymir groaned, but answered, “Hello? You ignore me for a week and then call me at eight AM? What the fuck, Marco.”

“Sorry,” I responded. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Ymir paused on the other end, before she said, “How are you, kid?”

In all my life I could never remember another time that question was so loaded. “I’m staying at Jean’s. Mom and dad don’t get it.”

Ymir chuckled on the other end but it was humorless and unamused. “They _do_ get it. They just don’t _want_ to get it. It’s easier for them to pretend it’s not real. I mean, do you honestly think they didn’t know? Maybe not with you, but hell, I’m pretty damn obvious. And they just…look the other way.”

I hadn’t considered that my parents might have already suspected that Ymir was gay. Now that I thought about it, how could they not? She’d never had a boyfriend. She’d lived with Christa for three years now. Christa came to all our family occasions, even my grandpa’s funeral. They exchanged gifts on Christmas that were too expensive for a friendly exchange, and Christa wore an engagement ring. Once my mom asked Christa who the lucky guy was, and Christa responded, “I’m – I’m not marrying a man?” And my mom had responded, “Oh, well it’s a pretty ring anyway,” as if Christa had just decided to buy herself a diamond engagement ring for fun.

“Did you ever come out to them?” I asked.

Ymir sighed. “What do you think? I tried to, Marco. But they never stopped pretending it didn’t happen, so I just stopped hiding it and thought they’d eventually _have_ to acknowledge it. They still haven’t and it’s been years.”

Her words made me feel like I was choking. She’d come out to them _years ago_? And they _still_ couldn’t move passed it? 

When I had decided to stay at Jean’s, I had expected to stay here a few days. A month at most, because I was assuming that my parents needed some time to mourn the idea of a straight son before moving on. I had never even considered that leaving the house would mean leaving the house permanently. I’d already made up my mind that I wouldn’t stay at home or speak with them until they were ready to accept that I was gay.

Now it was looking like a permanent decision and I wasn’t sure I could handle that.

But I couldn’t handle watching my parents mentally disown me either. 

“What should I do?” I asked, hearing the desperation in my voice. “I can’t go back. I can’t live with them if they’re going to…if they’re going to just pretend someone else is there.”

Ymir sighed. She took a long moment to think before she responded. “Marco…it might be time to accept that sometimes life isn’t fair and things don’t work out and parents are just people and people are fucked up.”

“Is that what you did?” I choked. Her words stung. Sniffling, I blinked back the tears. I focused all my attention on the fog outside and the shape of Jean’s truck in the driveway. 

“Yeah,” she responded, quietly. “It wasn’t easy. It won’t be for you either. But you can do it.”

“No, I can’t,” I choked, “I can’t.”

She started to say something else, but I hung up. I couldn’t handle thinking about it for a moment longer, let alone talking about it. I knew she was right. But I wasn’t ready to give in yet. If my parents could pretend I was straight for years, then I could pretend they’d one day accept me for as long as I damn well pleased. 

Some floorboards creaked. A light in the hall flicked on. Jean’s weight pressed into the loveseat cushion behind me, and then his arms slid around my waist. I didn’t ask him how much he heard. Though I wanted to apologize for waking him, I couldn’t. He squeezed me tight. 

“Want to talk about it?” he asked. I did want to, but I hesitated. I’d forgiven him for pressuring me to come out. That fight was long gone. But I knew that Jean could never truly forgive his own mistakes and flaws. I wouldn’t talk about it with him right now. Not when I was so emotional and bound to say something I’d regret, something I wouldn’t mean, and something he’d hang on to long after I forgot it was even said. 

“Not right now,” I responded. He nodded, and I turned toward him so that he could wrap his arms around my shoulders and pull me into him. 

… 

The following morning, Jean and I woke up to Ms. Kirstein getting ready for church. 

Like always, she asked Jean, “Why don’t you come with me?” 

And, like always, Jean responded, “Because I get told I’m going to hell enough at school.”

“They aren’t like that, Jean,” Ms. Kirstein sighed, as she clasped her necklace. 

“Everyone’s like that,” he grumbled in response, looking out the window, blurred by pattering rain. His truck had been in the driveway all night, since his mom had parked in the garage. Now the bed of his truck would be drenched, if not filling with water. We wouldn’t be able to drive it anywhere this Sunday. We wouldn’t even be able to sit in it. “They were like that last time I went,” he continued, after a moment. 

“You went years ago,” she responded. 

Jean didn’t respond. He waited for his mom to finish buttoning her jacket. She grabbed an umbrella, and gave him one last disapproving look. He stood, kissed her on the cheek and told her to drive safely. She left without pushing it any further. 

“Why don’t you go?” Although I had always wondered why, I had never asked before.

He shifted closer to me on the couch, smiling in a way that looked a little forced. “I already said it. I’m sick of being told I’m going to hell.”

I grimaced. “That can’t be it.”

“Why not?” 

“Because…because, what other people think has never stopped you before.”

His features softened, and for a moment he almost looked guilty. 

“Don’t you believe in God?” I reached for his hand. I wasn’t sure if I was comforting him or me. It wasn’t that religion mattered to me so much. Not in the go-to-church-and-repent-your-sins way. But I believed in God, at least. I believed my life was more meaningful than just a random coincidence of existence. I believed Jean’s was too. 

“I don’t know. It’s…It’s hard. It’s hard to believe in God because, like, he supposedly made us all the way we were meant to be, or whatever. Like, God doesn’t make mistakes. And if that’s true – which it seems like it would be, I mean what kind of God would he be if he made mistakes…Then, I don’t know. I guess I just can’t forgive him for doing this to me. If he’s real, then I have to spend the rest of my life pissed at him. My life is easier to live if I don’t think God singled me out.”

In a way, I understood where he came from. Growing up gay meant always facing the possibility that there was something wrong with you, and as a child I’d prayed not to go to hell for something I couldn’t help. As I grew up, I didn’t pray so much and I didn’t see religion that way anymore. I figured, God made me gay, he must want gay people around. God would want me to be happy, and if I was with a man I would be. 

“Don’t you feel like maybe he wanted you to be trans?” I asked, almost whispering now because I feared he would be angry with me.

He frowned and glanced out the window again. His hand tightened around mine. 

“Maybe, but I don’t care if he did. You can’t just fuck with people’s lives because it’s what you want to do. I mean, it’s not just me. Or even trans people. It’s little kids starving or getting cancer and dying or being touched by old fucking perverts. Why would anyone let that happen? I can’t accept that it’s just ‘God’s will’ or whatever. I can’t get on my knees and beg him to make my life better when he’s already decided to fuck it over. I can’t thank him for bringing you into my life if he’s the same damn person that kicked my dad out of it. I can’t.”

Jean was shaking now, and I realized this had mattered to him much more than he’d ever lead on. His mom must not have had any idea how much this mattered to him, or she wouldn’t ask. She wasn’t the type of mom that forced anything on him that he wasn’t comfortable with.

I squeezed his hand and he whipped his head my direction. His eyes were wide, like he’d just witnessed a car crash or something. I cupped his face in my hand and leaned in to kiss him. 

“I won’t bring it up again,” I said.

“You believe in God?” 

I nodded. 

“And he doesn’t make you mad?” 

I shook my head. 

“Why not?”

Even though I’d never specifically contemplated the question before, the answer came to me as if I had recited it. “Sometimes really good things happen because something else bad happened first.”

“So, you think, every bad thing that happens leads to something good?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. I’d like to think so. Either that or, a bad thing happens to prevent something even worse from happening.”

Jean nodded as I spoke. His hands relaxed. 

“You think God makes mistakes?” 

“I think that calling anything a mistake is easy…It’s really easy to look back and think a decision is a mistake once you know the outcome. But no one makes a decision intending to regret it. People do what they think is best at the time, and sometimes, it wasn’t what was best.”

Jean chuckled at that. “So, God’s just making shit up as he goes?”

I laughed. “I don’t know. Could you forgive him if that was the case?”

Jean shook his head, but he was still smiling. “I guess. Supposedly, he forgives everything we do.”

“Probably should do the same for him,” I added. Jean smiled. I could tell that he wasn’t entirely convinced, this wasn’t his eye-opening epiphany, but maybe now the questions at night wouldn’t haunt him so much. Maybe now, they’d just be the same questions everyone else had. 

He leaned in to kiss me deeply. What I thought would only last a moment kept going. Each time I tried to pull away he reeled me back in. His body shifted so that he was laying on his back and pulling me by my shirt closer to him. I had nearly forgotten that his mom would only be gone a little over an hour, and that this was the only privacy we’d have all day. 

His hands slid up and down my back. They gripped on to the belt loops in my pants and slid a couple inches under my boxers. This was always when my heart started racing, and my kissing got sloppy and my thoughts went in every direction without my permission. The adrenaline rushed and then a moment later I was hard, pressed up against his thigh and dying for friction. I loved and hated this part. I loved how his body felt pressed against me, and I loved how he moaned at the feeling of me hard against him, and I loved how his fingers clutched on to my clothing, pulling me closer.

I didn’t love the part when it abruptly stopped. This time, it wasn’t me who pulled away from him to ask if we could keep going. 

He parted his lips from mine first. When our eyes met, his were pinched up and worried. He looked away from me before pushing me off of him and sitting up. He placed both his elbows on his knees. His fingers tangled in his hair.

“Jean? What’d I do?” I hadn’t even asked him if we could keep going. I hadn’t since before I came out to my parents, actually. It upset him, and I had learned to bite my tongue. 

“Marco I…I want to keep going. I think I can.”

“You _think_?” I asked, not liking the sound of that. No matter how badly I wanted him I wouldn’t do it if he was unsure. If he was only doing it to appease me.

“There’s something I gotta tell you first.”

“What?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm and reassuring. I wouldn’t screw this up. Whatever it was he had to say, I could handle it. If I could handle that he was trans, I could handle anything else too. 

But then he said, “Do you remember that time I snuck out to go to that party?”

“Yeah?” The tone in his voice had already risen a red flag. He sounded guilty. He _looked_ guilty, the way he was wincing and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Well…okay, please, just…just let me finish before you say anything.”

“Okay,” I responded, drawing the word out with uncertainty. 

“Well,” he began. He looked like he was going to tear his hair out the way he gripped on to it. “Something happened at that party.” My heart was tripping over every beat as I let him finish the whole story. Mikasa inviting him to the party, approaching him, dragging him into a bedroom, kissing him, taking his shirt off, taking _her_ shirt off and…and asking to have sex with him. 

When Jean was finished speaking, he stared at me with eyes that pleaded for me to say something. He looked vulnerable the exact same way he had when he told me he was trans. It hurt to see, but I couldn’t think about that.

She was so pretty. She really, really was. She was half-japanese, with long, flowing black hair down to her waist. The shape of her eyes were narrow, and gray. Her lips were full and her cheekbones sharp. She was exactly the type of girl that wouldn’t think about it too. Beautiful, effortlessly, as if she would have time to worry about her appearance. I’d only seen her here and there, but she had _always_ looked stunning. 

She was one of our school’s star athletes. Volley ball, basketball, hockey – you name it, Mikasa was probably the best at it. She was so thin. Not just thin, but strong. Healthy. The picture of fitness. 

And she was a girl. I had never questioned Jean’s bisexuality, although I couldn’t pretend to understand it myself. He never _appeared_ to have a preference, but I had always wondered why I hadn’t known he liked men until he confessed he liked me. Until then, he had seemed straight. He’d only ever had feelings for girls that I knew of. His life would be so much easier if he was with someone like her. 

All I could think about was his hands touching her the way he touched me whenever he took my shirt off. His lips kissing her deeply and thoroughly the way he did mine. His moan when she kissed him better than me. His hands threading through her hair, so much longer than mine. 

“Marco?” 

I cleared my throat. I heard myself ask, as if it was coming from someone else, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Jean sighed. He laced his fingers together gripping on to them. He sat at the edge of his seat like he thought the couch would fall out from under him. “When it happened…I didn’t want anyone to know because…I mean, what was I supposed to say to you? I almost had sex with her? Like, there was no way to tell the story without outing myself. And then as time went on…I just forgot about it. I didn’t think about it until my mom brought it up and –”

“When was that?” 

He hesitated. “Last week sometime.”

“Before I came out?” 

He hesitated again as he looked away from me. He rasped, “Yeah. I didn’t – I was going to tell you in the car when I picked you up the next morning, but then you told me you were going to come out and I didn’t want to make it harder on –”

“You mean you didn’t want to give me _two_ reasons to be mad at you. You didn’t want to make me change my mind about coming out for _you_.”

“What? Marco, no – it wasn’t like that, okay?” His voice was desperate and he’d scooted closer to me on the couch. I wanted to pull away from him but didn’t. 

“I came out for you. Now my parents hate me, and might hate me forever, all for a boy who’s been lying to me about – and I mean who knows what else you’re keeping from me. How many other things haven’t you told me about? How many other things do I think I know about you? Do I even _know_ you?”

“Marco, I haven’t kept anything else –”

“I had no idea you liked Mikasa! If she had been cool with you being trans, you would have slept with her! On the first night! Without even being with her or hardly knowing her! You’d probably be _dating_ her right now if it wasn’t for that!”

“Come on! You know that’s not –”

“You’re only with me because you think I’m all you can get!” I yelled. And then, as those words hit home and sunk deep inside me, burying themselves there so I could never uproot them and never rid myself of them, I repeated in a whimper, “You’re only with me because you think I’m all you can get.”

And all at once, I hated myself because of course he was only with me because he thought I was all he could get. Since he came out, the only other person who got bullied as much as him was me. The fat gay kid that was the third-wheel to his best friends. The fat gay kid that had a huge crush on a football player that could get anyone, any girl, even Mikasa Fucking Ackerman –

– Except that he was trans. 

I stood up then, darting into his room to grab my stuff. As I shoved everything I had on his dresser in my pockets, all I could say was, “I came out for you. My parents hate me, because I came out for _you_ and you don’t even care. You didn’t when I told you I didn’t want to come out, you didn’t when I decided to tell them, and you don’t now. I can’t fucking believe I gave up my relationship with my parents for you!”

While all this was happening, Jean was practically walking on my feet trying to stop me from grabbing my stuff. “Marco, Marco, please, Marco. Stop. You don’t understand. That’s – it’s not. I’d never – I love you, okay? I fucking love you and you – you just don’t understand!”

But if he loved me he wouldn’t have let this happen. 

Jean kept pleading with me as I stuffed my pillowcase with all the clothes I’d brought over. He stood in front of the door so that I wouldn’t leave, and I refused to see him cry. I refused to hear him beg me to stay, because if I did, I might fall for it again and stay with him because I _did_ love him. I _did_ want to be with him. But I had to respect myself. I couldn’t be with someone who was just killing time with me when I would kill for time with him.

I pushed him out of the way of the door. Even as he called my name from the doorway, I ran, and I kept running all the way home. 

… 

I opened my house’s front door the instant I stepped on to my porch, knowing that if I gave myself time to second guess myself, I’d turn right back around. 

And it was almost as if I’d never left. Mom sat at the kitchen table with rows of cards lined up on the table. She often played solitaire in the mornings. Dad sat on the couch, with the newspaper in his lap. The TV wasn’t on because mom insisted that he didn’t turn it on until afternoon, the same way he insisted that she not drink any wine until dinner time. Everything was in order. 

They both looked up at me as I stepped in. They glanced at each other before silently making the decision to act like nothing had happened. 

Because the next thing my mom did was force her mouth into the shape of a smile and ask, “How was your sleepover?” as if I hadn’t been there a week. 

My dad was already reading the newspaper again.

What hurt the most was after a week of being gone I stepped into my home visibly crying and my parents couldn’t even ask, “What’s wrong?”

They couldn’t ask it because they knew they might be wandering into Gay Territory and I might respond with something _gay_. 

“Jean and I broke up,” I sobbed. “My _boyfriend_ and I _broke up_.” 

They paused. I could practically see my mom deciding not to hear what I had said. Her eyebrows turned up like she had forgotten how to speak English, and she shook her head. “I don’t understand? What do you _mean_ , Marco?”

She might as well just say what she was thinking, because her thoughts were even louder than mine. She was thinking _Why won’t you just play along?_ It made me sick. I was in my home, but I might as well be on a stage, refusing to read my lines, acting with two people playing parents who were both wondering why no one backstage was waving cue cards at me yet. I wanted to tell them they didn’t know how to play parents. They knew nothing about being a parent. How could they even begin to play such a huge role when they knew nothing about it?

After I didn’t respond, my dad said, “You shouldn’t be around that boy anyway. He’s a bad influence.”

“He didn’t make me gay,” I spit. 

“What?” My dad was trying to control his voice, but he didn’t know how. His voice rose and his eyes were fierce. I looked him in the eyes anyway.

“He didn’t make me gay.” I faced my mom. The tears kept coming, but I kept my face stern. I kept my voice as strong as I could, my chin raised high. “You can pretend I’m not gay if you want. I don’t care. I don’t care about anything, anymore. But Jean didn’t make me gay and he didn’t convince me to act gay. That’s just who I am. I’m _gay_. And eventually you’re going to have to accept that, because I’m going to be gay a lot longer than the two of you can pretend I’m not.”

“Marco, what _are_ you talking about?” my mom said, in a breathy voice that was meant to sound confused but came out desperate and pathetic. I loved my mom, I did, but I hated everything about her in that moment.

“Eventually, it’s going to get harder and harder to lie to yourself about it. I’m going to get married one day. To a man. I’m going to adopt kids. With that man. I’m going to grow old with him. And I swear, on my life, _I will be happy_.”

My mom started crying and shaking her head. My dad rolled his eyes. 

“Do you see what you’ve done! You’ve –”

“It’s already happening with Ymir. You see how she looks at Christa? It’s because she loves Christa. She loves Christa more than I’ve ever seen anyone love anybody and I’d bet anything she stays with Christa her whole life.”

“Marco! What has gotten into you? What did we do to you?” my mom wailed.

“Calm down,” my dad said to her, waving me off. “He’s acting out. He’ll get passed this nonsense when he’s older.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Don’t let yourself get worked up over it, Helen. He’s young. He just needs to meet the right girl,” my dad kept going.

“I’m never going to meet ‘the right girl’.” 

“He doesn’t know what he’s saying. It’s just _that Jean_. He’s gotten to Marco.” 

“It’s not about Jean,” I snapped. I even stomped my foot. It rattled a nearby lamp and shook the closet door beside me. They stared at me, my dad with a furious expression and my mom looking downright terrified. “What is wrong with you two? Don’t you get it? I’m you’re son!”

I had so much more to say, but right then I knew I wouldn’t. I never would. Their minds couldn’t be changed after all these years. Before I was even born they had an idea of what they wanted their son to be. When I turned out to be a different son than what they wanted, when I turned out to be someone else, they chose not to see me. They saw what they wanted to see instead because they couldn’t go back and decide to never have me. 

But if they knew then that what they knew now about me, they wouldn’t have had me at all. 

“Marco, we just want what’s best for you,” my mom sobbed. 

I looked my mom in the eyes. Ymir had gotten dad’s hazel eyes, but I had gotten my mom’s rich brown ones. I had always thought my mom’s eyes were kind. Not anymore.

I figured that every kid at some point must look their parent in the eyes and for the first time see someone that wasn’t their parent at all. Someone they hardly knew. I figured that moment was the moment a kid became an adult. The moment they weren’t being raised anymore, the moment their parents no longer had influence over who they were or what they believed in, the moment they became their own person and finally saw their parents for who they really were. Just people.

And like Ymir said: People were fucked up.

Without another word, I turned back around. As I stepped outI slammed the door behind it me, feeling as though I’d never gone home to begin with. 

Nothing had changed, after all. 

…

Sasha picked me up in the parking lot of the gas station near my house. On the phone, she’d been frantic trying to figure out what was wrong, but I couldn’t respond. I told her I just needed somewhere to stay. 

Now, she drove with her hands clenched on the wheel. Her face was relaxed intentionally. Her eyes paid attention too closely to streetlights and speed limit signs. I could tell she was thinking, trying to figure out how to word what she wanted to say. Her eyes kept squinting. Her lips pursed. She was chewing her gum with too much precision.

Finally, she sighed. Instead of asking whatever polite thing she thought she should ask, or saying something she knew wouldn’t help, are talking about something just to fill the silence, she asked what she was actually thinking. I loved her for it. She asked, “Did you and Jean break up?”

“I don’t know,” I responded. My voice was still hoarse from crying. My face felt tight from crying so much. 

“What happened?” she asked. “Did he cheat on you?”

“He lied to me.”

She winced like she knew without me needing to explain that I thought lying was worse. She turned onto the off ramp into her neighborhood. She lived on the other side of the school from me. She only lived with her dad. Her mom had moved away and married someone else. I knew she had older, half-siblings from her dad’s first marriage. They’d all moved out now and gone to college, leaving her home with her dad. The house was pretty big for just the two of them. Her house was yellow, surrounded by a garden that she tended herself in the spring. 

Upon pulling her car into her garage, I was bombarded with the sight of all the bear skins and antlers nailed to the walls. Cross-bows hung from the rafters and several safes lined the walls filled with hunting rifles. I only knew that because she had shown me once. She and her dad hunted each fall and she always got so excited that she pulled out all the guns to clean them in September. 

Once inside, she switched to Spanish, momentarily startling me. She and her dad always yelled from different parts of the house and I always wondered how that didn’t get exhausting. But her dad was in the kitchen doing dishes – they had a dishwasher, but he always hand-washed them anyway – and he pulled down his headphones to listen to whatever she was saying. Sasha’s dad was tall, thin, with shoulder-length black hair and permanent stubble. If I was being honest, he looked like a mean man but since being around him I had come to learn that he liked to bake cupcakes and filled his yard with bird feeders and named half the birds he saw. 

Right now though, Sasha seemed to be arguing with him. She kept groaning. He kept shaking his head. He waved his hand at her and in the middle of speaking she cut him off and yelled, “But Papi, he’s gay!” 

I knew she switched into English so that I could hear. She gave me a guilty expression for outing me, but I knew why she’d done it. The argument they were having was about having a boy stay over. What Sasha’s dad didn’t know was that Connie had been sneaking in through Sasha’s bedroom window since they were twelve.

Her dad looked at me, then looked me up and down as if something about my appearance would be a gay-indicator. “That true?”

I hesitated, but responded, “Yes.”

“Oh. Okay, m’hija.” He shrugged, putting his headphones back on and returning to his dishes. 

Sasha laughed and we headed into her bedroom. Most the night was spent watching scary movies in her bed and face-timing with Connie. They both asked a couple questions about what had happened. I confessed that I came out to my parents and that it wasn’t going well. But I kept what had happened between me and Jean earlier that day to myself, at least for now. They didn’t push it beyond the few details I’d given them. Jean had kept a secret from me. We had fought. I couldn’t be with him right now. I didn’t know if we’d broken up. I hoped we hadn’t.

I really, really hoped we hadn’t. 

Sasha fell asleep by midnight, and I had to turn off her TV and computer for her. I also had to text Connie and let him know, yes, she fell asleep while texting him again. 

Then I crawled in beside Sasha. It took over a minute to convince her to roll over, since she slept with her limbs sprawled out. But once she did I lay on my back and stared at her ceiling. Her neighborhood was busier than mine, and cars drove by outside. Their headlights streaked her walls, scanning everything in the room for a few seconds. 

Like any other time Jean and I had fought, I couldn’t sleep. He texted me a few times, but I didn’t look to see what he’d said. It scared me to think that this was the first time he’d ever texted me when I’d gotten mad at him for something. 

I replayed the fight over and over in my head. It seemed now that he hadn’t actually said anything that should make me mad. Now that I had calmed down, and had given myself some space from him, I was thinking clearly. What had he _really_ said? He’d confessed that _over two years ago_ he _almost_ slept with a girl that he _hadn’t spoken to since_. 

In the dark, my face became hot with shame. I had blown this completely out of proportion all because I was jealous of a pretty girl that had caught his attention. 

While I was still worried that he might only be with me because he thought he couldn’t get anyone else, I remembered all at once the reasons I shouldn’t believe that. Jean had told me that the reason he couldn’t come out to me about being trans was because he feared I would never like him. And if he was ashamed to be with me, or settling for me, would he have even cared if I came out to my parents? I didn’t think he would, and he had been asking me to come out to them practically since the day we started dating. And then, when he’d apologized for pressuring me to come out, he’d been afraid I was going to break up with him. He had sounded relieved when I told him I wouldn’t. 

Of course, by the end of his story I had completely forgotten how it had started. Jean had told me he wanted to continue, and that he “thought he could”. I wasn’t sure what that meant. Did that mean he was ready? He wanted to have sex with me? _Me_? 

If I hadn’t gotten so upset with him who knew what would have happened. 

I realized then that Jean wasn’t even telling me that story because he thought I would get mad at him. Certainly, he _did_ feel like that, but that wasn’t _why_ he’d told me the story. He had specifically decided to tell me that story when he did because it needed to be said before we kept going. 

By the end of his confession, I had asked him why he hadn’t told me, and he had admitted that he’d forgotten about it, hadn’t even _thought_ about it…until his _mom_ brought it up.

Why would his mom bring it up to him? 

I knew Jean didn’t keep much from his mom. They had an honest, easy-going relationship that I envied. His mom wouldn’t judge Jean for anything, I knew. 

It hadn’t even occurred to me that Jean would talk to his mom about _us_ , but of course he would. Before I was in his life, and before I was his best friend, and before he told me everything, he had his mom.

The two of them had talked about something that had made his mom bring the party up. I could only assume that the reason his mom would think that story was relevant, was if Jean was having the same problem now. With me. 

Jean couldn’t have sex with her, and he couldn’t with me.

But why not me? I knew he was trans. As far as I knew, that was the only reason he couldn’t with her. With me, I had just assumed he didn’t want to. He wasn’t attracted to me enough. The idea of having sex with me turned him off. Which was why I was so confused every time he kissed me, and got so heated and urgent with his hands and mouth. He _acted_ like he wanted to, and then abruptly pulled away. I had been waiting all this time for him to admit he didn’t want to have sex with me because I was fat. That was why I wanted to have sex with him, really. Of course I wanted to have sex in general, but that could wait. I had my right hand and plenty of privacy in the shower. 

The real reason I wanted him to have sex with me so badly was because I wanted to be reassured that he’d like it. That he’d find me attractive. And…if he was avoiding having sex with me for the same reasons, because he thought I wouldn’t find him attractive, then the only thing I could do was prove to him that wasn’t the case, right? By having sex with him?

But, something about it was bothering me. Some fleeting thought in the back of my mind that I couldn’t quite put into words. If the reason he wouldn’t have sex with me wasn’t because he was trans and was trying to hide it (like he had been with Mikasa), and it wasn’t because he feared I wouldn’t find his body attractive (like I feared with him), then what was it? 

Sasha rolled over onto my side of the bed and I sighed. I had gotten used to curling up next to Jean at night, and I missed it already. 

I rolled over too, and adjusted the pillow underneath my head. My phone sat on Sasha’s nightstand. It had vibrated twice since I’d gone to bed. I reached for it, and slid my thumb across the screen. 

Text number 1: _I don’t want anyone else._

Text number 2: _Alright, be mad. I get it. But come home._

Something in my chest fluttered at him calling his own house “home” as if I lived there too.

Text number 3: _I’ll leave you alone, okay? But don’t go to your parents’ house._

Text number 4: _Should I still pick you up tomorrow?_

Text number 5: _Fuck it. I’m not going to school._

Text number 6: _Just_

Text number 7: _Call me to let me know you’re okay. That’s it._

He had sent that hours ago. I’d call now, but I figured he was asleep. And once Jean was woken up, he couldn’t fall back asleep. I’d call him tomorrow.

Text number 8: _I love you. I know I didn’t tell you I was trans when I should have. I know I didn’t tell you about Mikasa when I should have either. I know I forced you to come out. And I know I don’t ever show you how much I care about you because I’m_

Text number 9: _I’ve never lied to you though. I love you._

If I hadn’t read the texts, I was certain I would have been up all night. But I had read them, and somehow despite knowing that everything in my life felt like it was falling apart, I fell asleep with a smile on my face. 

…

I texted Jean in the morning to let him know that I had stayed at Sasha’s. He didn’t respond, and I figured he was still sleeping. Once I got to school and he wasn’t there, I knew he’d stayed home to sleep in. His mom was pretty relaxed about Jean skipping if he wanted to, as long as he kept his grades up. He always kept them decent, at least.

At lunch, the table felt exposed and dull without him there. It was one of the only periods of the day when I could actually see him, since we only shared one class. Our assigned seats weren’t even close to each other in math. I looked forward to lunch because at least I could sit by him.

Right now, it was just me, Connie, and Sasha. The two of them sat across from me. Both of them loaded up on the lunch today because it was chicken nuggets and mashed potatoes. Our school had very few edible meals. I’d picked at my own food, but felt too anxious about seeing Jean after school today to really enjoy it. 

Whatever had happened between us, I was over it, but that didn’t mean he was. 

Connie caught me zoning out and said, “Must have been pretty bad if he won’t even come to school.”

Sasha glanced my way with a worried expression, but Connie hadn’t upset me. 

“It was my fault.”

Connie arched in eyebrow. “I didn’t know Marco Bodt could make mistakes.”

I rolled my eyes as I shoved my tray away from me. Crossing my arms and resting my head on my elbow, I nodded. “I got really jealous over something really stupid. A girl he had a thing with. Not even a thing. Just…I don’t know.”

“Yeah, I had no idea you were the jealous type,” Connie said, as he spread mashed potatoes over a bun. 

Sasha grimaced at him. The two of them said a couple of things to each other – something along the lines of ruining perfectly good food – and I zoned out again. The sounds of all the nearby tables faded, and the chattering was just a dull drone at the back of my mind. It was raining. It pattered against the windows on the far end of the cafeteria. I wondered what Jean was doing at home, if he was looking out the window too, if he was thinking about me. Or mad at me.

“It’s not that I’m the jealous type…” I finally said, probably too late for either of them to believe me. I wasn’t even sure if I believed me. But I continued, “It’s just that…the girl was Mikasa Ackermann.”

Both of their heads perked up. Connie whispered, “yikes,” under his breath and Sasha just gaped in the direction of Mikasa’s table. 

“Well in that case…” she said.

“Yeah,” I responded. 

“She doesn’t seem like the type of girl to sleep around,” Connie said.

Sasha swatted at his arm.

“What! I didn’t say that was a _bad_ thing, okay. I’m just saying…she doesn’t really go for guys like Jean.”

I glared at Connie and again he got frustrated and slammed a hand against the table. “I don’t mean that Jean’s _trans_ , Marco, God. I just mean that…she doesn’t really go for guys. Or anyone. I mean, have you ever seen her with anyone?”

Sasha popped her gum – I had no idea how she ate around it, but she did – and shook her head. “But I think she just likes to keep to herself.”

“Maybe she’s not over Jean,” Connie said, looking her direction now. A pang of fear reverberated in my chest. What if she _did_ still like him? Would he leave me for – No, I had to trust Jean. If I was going to go to his house tonight, and make up with him, I had, _had_ to move on. 

“Can we stop talking about this?” I said, “I kind of already decided to be over it.”

Sasha rested her hand on my shoulder. “You know Jean thinks the world of you, right? You can see it all over his face.”

“It’s nauseating,” Connie added. Maybe I’d be offended if I wasn’t so impressed he knew to say ‘nauseating’ and not ‘nauseous’. Sometimes I didn’t give him enough credit. But right now, I didn’t want to give him credit. I didn’t want to think that he was right about Mikasa not being over him.

“By the way, what did your parents think of him?” Connie asked.

I sighed. “I already told you. They’re still pretending I’m not gay.”

“Yeah, but what did they think of him before?” he asked.

“Why does that matter?”

“Because that’s how they’re going to feel about him when they get over you being gay,” Connie added.

Sasha’s eyes widened. “He’s right. Did they like him?”

“I don’t know that they really thought anything of him. My dad never talks to me about anything unless it’s college. Or bragging about how well Ymir is doing…in college. And my mom…she would have paid attention if he was a girl, but since he’s not she doesn’t care.”

“At least your sister will be more understanding when you move in with her. How soon can you leave, by the way? As soon as you graduate, I hope,” Sasha said. It took her a second to catch my wince. She gave me a questioning look. I sighed.

“I haven’t applied yet. I haven’t…decided yet if I want to move that far away.”

“You mean Jean hasn’t decided if he wants to move that far away,” Connie said, around a mouthful of chicken nugget, waving his fork in the air off-handedly and nearly catching it in Sasha’s pony-tail. She momentarily glared at him before returning her attention to me. 

I groaned and pulled my hoodie up over my head. “I haven’t even asked him yet.” I’d procrastinated asking him, because I knew that it would be hard for him to leave behind his mom. It felt wrong to expect him to just uproot himself and follow me wherever I went. But then again, if he didn’t come with me, would we stay together? Every time I thought about asking him my heart sped up and I felt like I’d pass out. I didn’t know what I’d do if he said no. 

Sasha gave me a look of sympathy before replacing it with a grin that was overly optimistic. “Well then you can just come to UMD with us!”

Connie nodded. “You should. We’ll like, never see you in Arizona.”

“Well, I have family there,” Sasha corrected.

Connie stared at the ceiling for a second, squinting. “Your mom lives there?”

“Kind of. Maybe an hour difference,” she said. “I’ve told you this before.”

“I know.”

“My mom wants to meet you,” she added.

He sighed. “I _know_ … I’m just, still getting used to your dad.”

Sasha snorted.

“What?” I asked. “I thought they got along.”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “They do. Papi just likes to screw with him and he falls for it every time.”

“Your dad is terrifying.” Connie stabbed one of his nuggets and Sasha giggled at his mini tantrum. 

“He scrapbooks in his free time.”

“ _Terrifying_ ,” Connie repeated. 

I laughed. I could only imagine. He’d let me off the hook because I gay, but it wasn’t hard to believe at all that Sasha’s dad could be scary. Sasha told me that when they first started dating, her dad showed Connie each of his guns and bragged about how long he’d been hunting and how he never missed his target.

At the time Sasha had said, “I yelled at him for that, later, of course. But when Connie was still there I let him sweat a little.”

I imagined that Connie preferred the two of them go to his house instead of hers, since his mom was Sasha’s biggest fan. I couldn’t exactly blame his mom. My parents loved Sasha too, even after I insisted that she had a boyfriend and was only my friend. How they looked at Sasha was how I wanted them to look at Jean. 

“Anyway…” Sasha said now, “You should probably like, you know, ask him…since it’s, you know, April…and you haven’t even decided where you’re going yet.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I will…”

I’d do it as soon as we made up. If we made up. 

…

Sasha dropped me off at Jean’s place after school. She patted me on the shoulder and said, “Good luck,” before I stepped out of the car. Her car sped away behind me as I walked up the driveway. 

I rang the doorbell. Less than a few seconds later, Jean swung the door open. The moment he realized it was me, he pulled me into his arms and began kissing me. I barely had time to react, but went along with it because if he was kissing me it meant he wasn’t mad at me. 

Guiding me by my waist, he tugged me into his bedroom.

I kept pulling away to try to speak. 

“Jean. I’m sorry I –”

He kissed around it. 

“I overreacted when –”

His hands slid down my chest toward the hem of my shirt. They roamed up underneath it and ran through my happy trail. I sighed into our kissing.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, okay, I –”

“Stop, Marco. Just forget it ever happened,” he whispered into my neck. 

Then he eased me back on to his bed. He pulled away long enough to take his shirt off. 

“What are you doing?” I asked, even as he climbed into my lap to straddle me.

“What we should have done weeks ago,” he responded. 

“What?”

He brought his lips really close to mine and looked me in the eyes. His were amber, and smoldering. “My mom’s not going to be home for another hour.”

My eyebrows rose and my mouth went dry. I placed my hands on his hips. I was already hard. He could tell, and he smirked at me. “Are you sure?” I asked. 

He nodded. But somehow, some glint in his eyes made me think otherwise. Maybe he wasn’t as sure as –

Jean ground his hips down against me and I gasped, my nails digging into his hips. He smiled. 

“Take off your shirt,” he said. As I did, he took care of the button and zipper on my pants. He slid my jeans down off my legs, along with my socks. I shivered, because I couldn’t hide anything in just my boxers. Jean could truly see how chubby I was. I had no reason to believe he’d mind, but since I was young enough to think about relationships I’d feared whoever I dated would mind. It wasn’t until Sasha got a boyfriend, and I saw how indifferent Connie was to Sasha being chubby, that I believed I _might_ find someone who didn’t care. Let alone Jean, who was so annoyingly, obviously handsome. 

When he came back up to my face from where he’d taken my socks off on the floor, he was biting his lip. He kissed me. “So, sexy, Marco.” 

A shudder ran down my spine, as I melted under his hand’s touch against my stomach. It would take a long time to get used to the idea that Jean actually found me sexy. 

I reached for Jean’s sweatpants. He pulled away from me, and again, something in his eyes made me want to stop.

“Are you _sure_? Like, _really_ sure?” 

He hesitated. “Just let me undress myself.”

I nodded at him. He stood and shut his door. Then, facing the door as if he couldn’t look at me, he slid his pants down so that he was in just his boxers. He exhaled. He balled hands and closed his eyes. Over his shoulder, he glanced at me. It was hard for me to believe he’d be that nervous about me finding him attractive, but he didn’t need to worry. 

When he saw my flushed, dazed, expression at the sight of his legs and his naval, and his ass in those boxers…he grinned. Before he lay back in the bed with me again, he opened up his dresser drawer. What he took out I almost forgot we’d need – a condom, of course. I forgot his situation more often than he’d probably believe. 

For a while, we just kissed. Both of us were already familiar with all the parts of our bodies already exposed, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to appreciate what was in front of me. Jean did the same, kissing all my freckles and my dimples like he normally did. We did this until he tugged me closer by my arms again and wrapped a leg around my waist. 

So, breathlessly, I pulled away to inch one of my hands towards his boxers. It was strange to see that he wasn’t hard, even though I knew he couldn’t be. Jean stiffened. 

“Why don’t you open your eyes?” I asked, feeling embarrassed about my weight again. I tried to push that thought away. If he was grossed out by my weight, he wouldn’t touch me the way he did. 

“Huh?” Jean asked, as his eyes snapped open. “Uh…sorry.”

"It’s okay," I responded. I kissed him, and he seemed to relax a little under my touch. He didn’t close his eyes again. “Can I take these off?” I asked, pulling on the elastic band of his boxers.

He bit his lip. “Let me do it.”

“Okay.” I kissed his forehead and slid my hand off his hip.

“Just, don’t look right away, okay?” he asked.

“Okay…” I responded. The more we continued, the more I wished I could do something to relax his nerves. I was nervous too, of course. Wasn’t every virgin? But I didn’t think he’d be this worked up about it. 

While his fingers snuck under his waistband, I kissed up and down his shoulder to try to calm him. My fingers trailed along the length of his arm. He sighed at that. 

Jean lifted his butt up to slide his boxers down, and when they reached his ankles he kicked them into the air. They landed on top of a lamp.

Jean exhaled again. His eyes shut. “Okay, you can look.”

My heart jumped into my throat as I looked down. All I saw from this angle were blond curls, so I shifted in the bed to be lower. Jean gasped, but sighed when I stroked his thigh. Gently, I nudged his thigh so that he would spread his legs. He hesitated, but did it. 

“Well?” he choked. 

And I didn’t know what to say, right away. I wouldn’t lie – it was startling to see something different than what my mind had told me over and over must be there. But I wasn’t grossed out, or not attracted to him like he had feared. This was his body, and as I scooted closer to him, I knew that I loved every inch of it. I could never be grossed out by any part of Jean. 

It took me a moment to find the courage, but I leaned in and kissed the crease between his lips. He gasped and curled his fingers in my hair. 

I came back up to him and he kissed me, urgently this time. So desperate for me that he barely let me keep my eyes on the condom as I opened it. My hands were shaking. 

The last article of clothing to come off was my boxers. Jean watched as my boxers landed on the floor. His eyes glazed over as he took in the sight of me naked, and hard. Something in his eyes saddened, and I remembered four months ago sitting in the bed of his truck when we kissed for the first time. I’d gotten hard then too, and Jean had worn that look.

“We don’t have to,” I quickly said, looking at the opened condom and wondering whether or not I should throw it away. I never imagined a condom would be this greasy, sticky thing but it was. 

Jean looked at the condom and then back to me. Whatever sadness he’d worn had vanished. “I know,” he whispered. He spread his legs for me, much wider than before, and I about forgot how to breathe. 

He put the condom on for me, making me shiver. Then, Jean reached for me and wrapped his arms and legs around me. My eyes searched his the moment before I eased in, and as I did, I kissed him. I began thrusting. 

I barely lasted. Not even ten minutes passed and I was intoxicated by the pleasure, so far gone that I couldn’t keep my thrusts even. Jean kissed me every moment of it. I wanted to ask him if it felt good, if I was doing okay, but every time I opened my mouth I only moaned. Jean always kissed me right after. By the time I was ready to come, I had forgotten how to speak. Finally, I gasped out Jean’s name and gave in. 

“Did you come?” Jean murmured into my neck after I had sat still for a minute. I flushed, this time out of embarrassment, and didn’t respond. I had, but I knew he hadn’t. 

I pulled out and rolled over next to him. I covered my face. “God, that’s embarrassing.”

Jean didn’t look like he was paying any attention to my shame. I pulled my hands away from my face, to get a better look at him and he –

“Oh my God, Jean? Are you okay?” 

Jean wore a hallow expression. His eyes flicked my direction, mechanically, and then he looked down at himself. 

“Jean? What did I…?” 

But it was too late. He turned away from me as his tears fell. His hands shoved them off his face. He wouldn’t look at me. He stood up, searching the floor for something. His hands were held away from his sides as if he couldn’t stand the thought of them brushing against his body. He ended up sobbing into one hand, while the other reached for a bath towel that had fallen off his computer chair on to the floor. 

By now, I was standing, and reaching for him. But as soon as one of my hands rested on his shoulder, he jerked away from me. 

“I have to shower,” he said.

“Okay? Can you tell me –”

“Just get dressed. My mom will be home soon.” 

He left the room, closing the bedroom door behind me. I got dressed. The shower blasted from the other room. All I could do was sit on Jean’s bed and wait for him to come out. I wouldn’t dare try to go in the bathroom and talk to him. 

If he was acting like this, I must have done something _really_ bad. The thought of hurting him this way – whatever way it was – made me feel sick. My stomach was churning, I was so disgusted with myself. 

How had this been worth it? I wanted to go back. I wanted to never bring up sex to him at all. Why had I pressured him so much? I’d been content without sex for eighteen years, and what, the second I got a boyfriend I couldn’t control myself?

What had I done to us? 

The moment Jean was out of the shower, I stood off the bed. He entered the room and all I could do was silently plead with him to explain. He’d wrapped his towel around himself, and he was clutching on to it tightly. He slid his boxers on underneath it before the towel flopped to the floor. 

“Jean…can you please…I’m sorry,” I choked, “You have no idea how sorry I am. I’ll never ask again. We don’t ever have to do it again.”

Jean shrugged, and tried to look nonchalant but failed. Another tear fell and his lip quivered. I thought if I held him he might shatter, but that was all I wanted to do.

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I wanted to, I swear. And I thought I could – if I just wanted it _enough_ , but…I’ve…I’ve been trying for so long to get over it. To not have a problem with it, but I do. I can’t help it.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You wouldn’t get it. That’s not your fault, but you wouldn’t get it. Just…” He stepped toward me. I reached out to place my hand on his cheek. He let me. 

“Try me,” I said.

“I’ll never get to have sex the way I want to with you,” he whispered. 

I furrowed my eyebrows. “If this is about, uh, my _performance,_ then…That’s _my_ fault. It’s something I have to –I’d have to work on, if we uh, kept doing this…But we don’t have to.” My words were jumbling together as I spoke. My face had been stained red. I could barely look him in the eyes. But I did, because I didn’t want him to feel like this was his fault.

This was the furthest thing from his fault.

Jean sighed. “See…you don’t get it. Just…”

My stomach felt like it had shrunk inside of me. This was the worst moment of my life, and that was including coming out to my parents.

“Can you stay at Sasha’s for a while?” he mumbled. I could tell he was afraid to ask me. I didn’t know if he thought I’d get angry. I didn’t, of course, but it stung. It fucking hurt so badly that yesterday, even after a fight, he’d asked me to stay here, just to make sure I was safe. And today, after this, he wanted me to stay at Sasha’s. 

I hated that I couldn’t blame him.

“I’ll call her and ask for a ride,” I replied.

He nodded before he left the room to shower again. 

…

Sasha and I had carried in a gallon of ice cream into her room that night. It was a school night, but her dad had gone to bed and as long as we were careful on the hardwood – Sasha could walk like a fox through her kitchen – then we wouldn’t wake him, and we could stay up late. 

Which, if we kept talking about my miserable love life, we’d probably be up with the sun.

Not long ago, Connie had snuck out of his house to drive over. He climbed in through the window, and the three of us ate out of the gallon of ice cream, sitting on Sasha’s queen-sized bed. We were in the dark except for Sasha’s TV. She put Netflix on, _The Walking Dead_ , her and Connie’s favorite show. Neither of them were paying close attention to it, since the volume was so low we could only hear vague gurgling when there was a mob of zombies and a gun shot once in a while. Sasha’s bed had a canapé hung over it, so the screen was veiled at the moment for me anyway.

As if I could focus on TV. 

“You know, Marco, it’s not as if this comes with a manual,” Sasha was saying, “It took me forever to teach Connie.”

“Babe!” Connie cried. Sasha and I both shushed him, because Sasha’s dad’s bedroom was right next door. Connie added in a whisper, “Do you have to bring that up?”

“Take one for Marco, honey, he’s desperate.” She patted his leg. He grumbled and flipped his hood up over his buzzed head to sulk. His next spoonful of ice cream was much bigger and gloopier than necessary, and it reminded me of those times in movies when somebody would chug like a glass of wine or something to help them get through the night. Well, that would at least explain why Connie and Sasha never drank.

“Well how am I supposed to know what I’m doing when…It’s not like Jean showed me, okay.” I was so happy they couldn’t see my face in the dark. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if my face glowed red like a nightlight. My face was burning like I’d been out in the sun all day.

“Do your research then. Ask Connie,” she chirped, and then directed her attention to Connie, “Give Marco tips.”

“I don’t know how to give a blow job,” Connie said.

Sasha and I both stared at him long and hard until Connie realized what he was forgetting. 

“Oh! Oh, right…Um,” he stammered. “I’m not giving advice on that either.”

“I just…I didn’t even consider…Him. I feel like shit because I just assumed that…it would feel as good for him as it did for me. I’ve never even thought about…how it would, like, _obviously_ be different for him,” I stumbled, carefully avoiding all the phrases that came to mind like _I didn’t even consider that I’d have to please him ‘like a girl’_ , or that I just assumed _he’d get off as quickly as a guy_. I hated that these were the thoughts that came to mind. Although it wasn’t how I truly felt, they popped into my head without permission. I felt like I was blaming him for the body he had. If he knew I’d thought that way, even on accident, he’d be hurt. Even more hurt than he was. 

Ugh, why did it have to be so embarrassing? Why couldn’t I just know? Why had I completely forgotten that I wouldn’t know how to get him off just because I knew how to get myself off? I curled up on Sasha’s bed and stuck my spoon in the gallon of ice cream so I could hug my knees to my chest. 

Sasha sighed and rubbed my back. “You’ll get the hang of it. _Every_ guy fucks it up the first time.”

Connie sighed and glared at her. “I’m right here.”

“I know?” she said, as if she had no idea why he’d say that. She was about to say something else when I cut her off.

“He didn’t,” I said, “He didn’t fuck it up at all. That’s why this sucks. It was fucking… _amazing_ for me.”

“So, wait a minute…what did he actually _say_ about it afterward?” Connie asked. “I mean, did he tell you it was bad?”

“He didn’t uh, need to tell me it was bad. He didn’t…” I was never going to get through this night. 

“No, I know that. But it’s gotta be more than that. Sasha teased me after our first time but she didn’t fucking kick me out and hide in the shower.”

“He didn’t kick me out,” I blurted, defending him. 

“What did he say, dude?” Connie repeated. His tone was serious, and if _Connie_ was being serious, then it had to be.

“He told me that I wouldn’t get it. That he’d never get to have sex the way he wanted to with me.”

Sasha arched an eyebrow. “That’s a little harsh. Even for Jean. He’s never mean like that to you.”

“I don’t think it was about that,” Connie said. “I don’t know about you, Marco, but I don’t think I could have sex if I didn’t have a dick.”

“And why’s that?” Sasha spit, her voice turning to venom. Connie waved her off.

“Not like that. I don’t mean it wouldn’t be fun to have a chick’s junk for a day but like, having sex would suck. I wouldn’t feel like a man if I was having sex without my dick. I know that ain’t right, but still…would you, Marco?”

“It’s not ‘a chick’s’ junk,” I said.

Connie sighed. He was waving his thankfully empty spoon around in the air as he spoke. This time Sasha steered clear of it. “Okay, I _know_ that. But, everyone thinks it is. And everyone thinks sex is all about like – at least for guys – having a huge dick, and fucking really hard, for a really long time, and being that super-fucking-macho, manly-ass prick that thinks he’s a sex God. And Jean…you can tell it’s important to him. To be one of the guys. So I’m just saying, I think it would suck for a guy to have sex without his dick.”

I just stared at Connie after he was done speaking. Long enough that he was afraid he’d said something dumb. “What?” he asked.

Sasha glanced at me. “Well?”

“Maybe you just like, never thought about it ‘cause you’re gay and the rules don’t apply, or something,” Connie said, shrugging.

While I knew that wasn’t the reason I hadn’t thought about it, I did think he was right about everything else. I should have realized sooner, but my ego had been too bruised to think about anything else. Hell, the reason I hadn’t thought about it from that perspective was because _I_ had been caught up in those stereotypes too. I’d thought this whole time that the reason sex had gone so horribly was because I hadn’t lasted long enough to satisfy him.

I slumped into Sasha’s bed and pulled the covers over my head. “I think he’s right.”

Before one am. rolled around, Connie kissed Sasha and jumped back out the window. She watched him leave through her blinds. Then she slithered out of bed with the ice cream and crept through the house to put the ice cream away. While she was in there, I texted Jean.

Text number 1: _I’m sorry I didn’t understand._

Text number 2: _I just want you to know that you can talk to me._

I waited for him to respond. He didn’t. My chest ached. I really hoped he was asleep, but I knew in my gut he wasn’t. 

Text number 3: _We don’t ever have to have sex again._

Text number 4: _But if we did, we could talk it through._

Text number 5: _Whatever you need._

Sasha walked back into the bedroom. She glanced at my phone in my hand, but didn’t say anything. The TV flicked off. Her body weight sunk into the bed beside me. My phone illuminated her room. 

Text number 6: _I love you still._

Something like ten minutes passed. I spent each one of those minutes gripping on to Sasha’s comforter, praying I didn’t cry. If I cried, Sasha would be up all night comforting me. That was the last thing she needed after I’d kept her up this late already.

My phone vibrated. I lunged for it. Sasha chuckled and I ignored her. He had texted, _I love you still._

**Author's Note:**

> If you're curious, my personal tumblr URL is in-agony-and-ecstasy@tumblr.com, and my writing-only tumblr URL is the-only-one-in-color@tumblr.com.


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